


he wishes

by malachai_hades_parker



Category: The Order (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Minor Jack/Alyssa for plot reasons, Oral, Smut, Soulmates, Soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 05:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18424173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malachai_hades_parker/pseuds/malachai_hades_parker
Summary: “Do you— I mean,didyou— like me like me?” He doesn’t know why he asks it. All he knows is that his body is still singing with adrenaline and he needs to know.Randall cracks a small, amused smile. “Jack, Greybeard would die for you and I’m pretty sure I would too. But if you’re asking if I would date you… dude, I think ‘soulmates’ is pretty gay.”





	he wishes

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: if you've seen either of the jack/randall fics i had up before, this might be familiar. it's because i've reposted this fifty million fucking times by now and am only just now happy with it, lol. i went ahead and combined a lot of the fluff scenes from both fics into one and added some extra stuff. pls let me know if you're vibing with it so far-- i've never done a soulmates AU before and it was a lil difficult for me. anyway, it's not my best work but i hope you have a good time anyway

“Oh, Jacky-poo. Standing outside of Alyssa’s classroom isn’t going to make you any more bangable,” Gabrielle sneers, clutching her books snugly to her chest as she spins to face him. “A girl  _ that _ stuck up? No way she doesn’t have all her ducks in order. You’re a student and she’s above you. If you really think she’ll risk her own career in the Order just to--”

“Jesus, will you shut  _ up?” _ Jack snaps, looking at her in disbelief. “Has anyone ever told you to mind your own damn business? Don’t you have a latte or a crumpet to steal with your ugly ass unsanctioned magic?” 

“Ouch,” Gabrielle smirks, touching a hand to her chest. “They’re  _ scones,  _ asshole. Maybe you’d know that if you did normal person things instead of constantly stalking Alyssa Drake.”

“Acolytes,” Alyssa interrupts, sounding annoyed.

Jack nearly jumps out of his skin. He hadn’t noticed her leaving the classroom; something especially embarrassing considering it’s the one reason he’s there. 

Her short blonde hair is as shiny as ever-- maybe even shinier. Jack gulps, and is so focused on how pretty she looks that he almost forgets how pissed her expression is. 

“Sorry, did you run out of work? I can arrange for a couple more temple cleanings, if you have so much time you’re  _ hovering  _ here, outside my class—“

“No, wait,” Jack protests, suddenly blanking on everything he’d wanted to say. 

“Medicum, you should probably talk to him about his schoolboy crush,” Gabrielle says coolly, which only seems to sour Alyssa’s expression more. “Y’know, so the Temple Magus doesn’t get the wrong impression.” 

“Great,” the blonde says dryly. “I’ll be sure to remember that if I ever.. I dunno, wake up on the wrong side of the bed one morning and suddenly start taking advice from Acolytes.” 

“Right,” Gabrielle says tightly. “I’ll leave you two to it, then.” 

When she gives Jack a wink and turns to leave, Alyssa gives an exasperated sigh. “Waiting outside my class? That’s a new low. Right after my personal favorite, the classic pizza emoji followed by the ghost emoji.” 

“I’m  _ sorry _ , okay? I just… I needed to talk to you. I wanted to thank you for what you did to help Randall. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about any of this sooner, but—“

“But you couldn’t,” Alyssa says, cutting him off. Everything about her expression is serious, from her cold blue eyes to her mouth pressed in a hard line. “But you and I are on different sides of a  _ war,  _ Jack. And, honestly, after everything I’ve seen, I’m pretty positive that you’ve chosen the side you’re staying on, so.. There’s nothing for us to talk about.”

She starts to turn away from him. “Don’t text me anymore. I’m serious this time.”

Jack wants to say something— anything that might ease her fears or make her turn back around. Make her stay. But instead his mouth just opens and closes again, wordlessly. 

She can’t know— there’s no way. They haven’t been seeing each other long enough for her to know his birthday. 

There’s no way she knows his nineteenth is only a week away, and as such, he’ll be receiving the tattoo that all people receive on their nineteenth— the name on his wrist proclaiming his other half. If it  _ doesn’t _ appear, it’ll only be because his soulmate hasn’t yet reached nineteen. Legend has it that the threads of fate typically try to weave soulmates closer together in each life. Because of this, Jack is sure it has to be Alyssa. No one else in his immediate life fits the description.

With a sigh, he turns away. If she does know, she doesn’t seem to care.   
  


* * *

 

“So Hamish told me about Cassie during that whole expedition to save you,” Jack says to Randall just before throwing back the rest of his gin and tonic and slamming the empty glass onto the bartop. 

The other werewolf is lounging across the couch, playing what Jack already assumes to be  _ Mario Odyssey  _ on his Nintendo Switch. He’d started playing the game a week ago and hadn’t stopped, even during their group study sessions. Even though the Switch was a recent obsession, Jack had still found himself wondering more than once how Randall had managed becoming premed. 

He barely even raises a brow at Jack’s claim. “Oh, great. Was it like a Lifetime movie on the go? Were there tears? Nice to see you two had some special bonding time.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “No? But when he initially said he’d dated one of the knights and I asked him if it was you, he said ‘He wishes’.”

“Riiight,” Randall smirks. “I’ve totally got the hots for our werewolf dad.”

Jack swallows, trying desperately to summon the courage to ask what he wants to ask.  _ Why do you even  _ want _ to ask to begin with, you idiot? It’s not your business, _ he chastises.

He says it anyway, because Jack Morton is nothing without putting his own foot in his mouth. 

“Randall— are you, uh.. are you gay?” 

Randall nearly drops his Switch and then laughs. “Jack, buddy.. it’s totally okay since it’s just between us two dudes, but you miiight not want to make a habit of going around asking people if they’re queer when you’re not sure if they’re out of the closet yet.” He puts his console in sleep mode and sets it on the coffee table before meeting Jack’s gaze earnestly. 

“I’m bisexual,” he continues, not breaking eye contact. “And yes, Hamish and Lilith know. You’re apparently just way too thick-skulled to notice me hitting on the hot bartender every time we’re out at the ole  _ Blade & Chalice _ .” 

Jack feels like his entire face has gone numb for a second. He doesn’t know how to amend himself or what he should say next. For some reason his stomach feels like it’s erupted with queasy butterflies.  _ It’s because you said some completely stupid shit and now you look like a total asshole,  _ he silently tells himself. 

Finally, he speaks. “I’m sorry, man. And you’re totally right, it was your business. I guess I just wanted to… to know you better.”  _ Know you better? Seriously?  _ He wants to kick himself. 

“Like I said, no worries,” Randall assures him, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. “I mean, we’ve already seen each other naked, so we’ve kinda already crossed the whole ‘acquaintances’ bar and hopped straight to best buds.”

For some reason, the tops of Jack’s ears are now burning.

Randall doesn’t seem to notice and continues. “I’ve also.. had a lot of time to come to terms with my sexuality, and I wouldn’t change it if I could.” 

“Yeah, I mean…” Jack is weirdly breathless. “I wouldn’t change it about you… either.” He immediately wants to smack himself. “God, that came out weird. Y’know, just forget it. Thanks for sharing, Randall.” Needing an immediate distraction, he moves to make himself another gin and tonic. Hamish had already left for campus a little earlier, so he’s stuck figuring the art of drink mixing out by himself. 

“Gin and tonic,” Randall says in a singsong voice as Jack starts pouring. “Are you sixty years old, Morton?” 

“Might as well be,” Jack sighs. “I sure as hell feel it.” 

“How’s it going with Alyssa?” Randall asks quietly, seeming to notice Jack’s tonal shift. 

The other wolf shrugs, overwhelmed by sudden irritability. “Not great? I guess. I mean, we broke up a week ago. It turns out murdering a necromancer, being forced to reveal you’re a werewolf and having your grandfather Hulk smash a sacred artifact that’s supposed to go straight to the lap of the Grand Magus aren’t really great things for a relationship, so… Fuck me, I guess.”

“You could’ve at least said please. Taken me out to dinner first,” Randall murmurs in response.

“What?” Jack says stupidly, more than just his ears burning this time. His cheeks feel like they’d burn to touch.

“It’s a joooke, Jackie,” Randall laughs, flashing that smile that could light up a room. “Hang onto your  _ Star Wars _ printed undies.” 

This has gotta be wrong, he thinks. Whatever bizarre ass conversations are happening between them shouldn’t be happening so close to his breakup with Alyssa. Then again, what is he even thinking to begin with? Is he really considering Randall like this at all? They’re best friends-- no way he’s flirting. 

And yet. 

“Excuse me while I go drown my sorrows and try not to jump off the top of the nearest building before my algebra test tomorrow morning,” Jack sighs, taking his drink and turning to go upstairs. His home-away-from-dorm was up there, and at this point he’d do anything to hide out from Randall and that infectious smile of his. 

“Just holler if you need any help,” Randall calls after him. 

Jack isn’t sure if it’s smugness he hears in his voice. He doesn’t care to find out. 

 

* * *

 

Jack is nearly passing out over his Algebra notes when he hears the knock on the door. 

Jerking awake, he’s embarrassed to find drool covering both his cheek and the page he’d passed out on. 

“Wow,” Randall grins, doing a once-over from his spot at the door frame. “Didn’t realize ‘doing math homework’ entailed also making out with said homework.” 

Jack snorts, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand and sitting up. “I was gonna say I’m not  _ that  _ easy, but I guess I did fall in bed with Alyssa in less than a couple weeks, huh?”

Randall plops down at the end of Jack’s bed. He’s in his red sweater and a pair of boxers— maybe because he’d been lying in bed himself earlier, too. “You’re still pretty torn up about her, huh? And since your nineteenth birthday is in a week—“

“Wait,” Jack interrupts, eyes squinting. “ _ You  _ know my birthday?”

Randall’s gaze flits to the side. “Uh, why would I not? We’re a  _ pack.  _ Also, I’m your RA.”

Jack stares at him in disbelief. “RAs don’t just know random personal shit about you like that.” 

“Well this one does, Jacky-poo. Try to keep up.”

Jack’s brow twitches. “Don’t call me that.” The image of Alyssa’s retreating figure is burned into the forefront of his mind. 

Randall sighs, scooching further up Jack’s bed until he’s sitting next to the shorter wolf. “Gosh, you’ve really got it bad, huh? Jack, if you have any lingering ideas that she might be your soulmate, you’ve gotta let ‘em go. For your own good.” 

He kicks his math notes further away from him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. God, I know. It’s just kind of impossible when it’s  _ looming  _ in front of me like this, and…”

“And?” Randall asks, placing one hand on his arm. His touch is warm; comforting. Jack has half the mind to lean into it, but he doesn’t. 

“And… I dunno. If it’s not her, who is it? It’s not like I have girls just lining up—“

“How about guys?” Randall asks, brown eyes searching. “I dunno how you swing, but—“

“I don’t either,” Jack says suddenly, surprising even himself. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he wonders if it’s because Randall is sitting this close to him and his touch is the only thing he seems able to really focus on. 

“Hey, at least you have a vague idea you might not be straight. That’s more than some people have at your age.” 

Randall says it cheerfully, but it doesn’t stop the queasiness in the pit of his stomach. 

“I guess. When did you know? That you weren’t straight, I mean?” 

Randall shrugs. “There was this guy I was into in high school, and we were both on the tennis team. Nerds, I know. But one night at a mutual friend’s party, he told me he’d seen me in the locker rooms once and wanted to, and I quote, ‘sample what was under my briefs’. So, like… he sucked me off and I was in.”

“That easy?” Jack asks, somehow skeptical. He wished his ongoing identity crisis could be solved by just getting his dick sucked. 

“I mean… yeah, I guess. It didn’t stop the whole ‘Am I really queer’ monologue in my head afterward, or the struggle to really accept fully who I was, but I think I still mostly knew after that.” Randall fights back a smile. “Maybe I could do the same for you? See if it jogs anything.”

Jack’s so taken aback that his jaw nearly drops. “ _ What _ ? Suck my  _ dick?  _ Are you serious?”

Randall shrugs. “I’m offering a favor. It’s not that deep, Morton. Plus, like I said, we see each other naked all the time.”

“Uhh..” Jack’s ears are hot and his pants suddenly feel a little tighter. “I mean… I guess? Yeah.” 

“C’mere, Jack,” he says, but his tone is lower and huskier.

He’s not entirely sure what Randall’s asking, so he just wiggles a little closer to him on the bed.

Randall is laying on his side now, facing Jack. Their bodies are only a couple inches apart. They’re so close that Jack can see the smaller details of his face, and even differentiate between his large, dark pupils and the brown of his irises. He’s handsome— it’s something that strikes Jack in actual earnest for maybe the first time. 

Without saying a word, Randall slides a hand behind Jack’s neck and brings him forward gently, connecting their lips. 

Randall’s are  _ soft.  _ Jack’s pants grow increasingly tighter as Randall’s lips slide over his. His hand absently rubs circles into the back of Jack’s neck, and it feels so good that Jack is almost not expecting it when Randall’s tongue glides over his bottom lip and begs entry. 

He allows it.  _ God,  _ he allows it. He meets Randall’s tongue with his own, and pretty soon he’s groaning against his best friend’s lips as his head collides with the backboard of his bed. 

“I’d say you like guys, Morton,” Randall murmurs against his lips, and Jack makes an incomprehensible sound in the back of his throat. He sloppily kisses Randall again, wanting nothing more than to keep tasting him.

Randall’s hand is finding his fly and undoing it, gently tugging the tops of his jeans down. Jack struggles to help him while also doing his best not to break their kiss. 

When Randall’s hand slips into the slit of his boxers and wraps around his shaft, he shudders in anticipation. 

“Just relax,” Randall murmurs to him, pressing wet kisses just underneath his ear and trailing them down his neck. “I’ve got you.”

He strokes his dick again, and Jack’s toes curl at both the feeling of his genitals being stimulated and the sensation of Randall’s tongue making small swirls on the soft skin of his neck. “Jesus Christ,” he exhales, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Randall grins a little and removes his hand from Jack’s dick long enough to spit in his palm. When his now wet hand returns to Jack’s shaft, the younger wolf gives a tortured moan. “I thought you were gonna suck my—“

“Jack, calm down,” he chastises, breaking off his sentence entirely. “We’re getting there.” 

When Randall’s head dips down toward his now fully exposed genitals, Jack knows it’s coming. 

The first thing Jack feels is the sensation of his warm, hot tongue lapping at the head of his dick. Randall’s laps quickly turn into a gentle sucking motion, his tongue swirling over Jack’s pre-cum. 

He lets out a groan of pleasure, his head falling back against the wall again as Randall’s tongue travels from the head and down the shaft of his penis. His hand pumps steadily underneath all the places his tongue works. 

It’s  _ good—  _ and it’s not like Jack is surprised. He’d expected as much. Hell, it was hard to even fuck up a blowjob. But seeing Randall’s lips suctioned to his dick is doing more to him than he’d ever thought it would. 

It isn’t until his dick is thrusting in and out of the older wolf’s mouth that his toes start to curl. He can almost feel the back of Randall’s throat, but somehow his friend doesn’t choke. When he hears the obscenely wet sound of Randall slurping as he moves back up his dick, he starts to feel himself being pushed over the edge. 

_ No way,  _ he thinks, not for the first time.  _ Not this soon.  _

But his orgasm is almost there and he has no way of stopping it. “I’m about to cum,” he warns Randall, not really expecting him to swallow.

But when he climaxes and starts ejaculating, Randall doesn’t move his mouth.

“Agh,  _ god,”  _ Jack groans as the other wolf sucks, his eyes practically rolling back into his head. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“That good?” Randall asks when he finally releases his hold on Jack’s dick. After wiping the spit connecting to his mouth, he musters a grin. “Thanks.” 

“Uh.. Thank  _ you?”  _ Thanking his best friend for a blowjob is just as weird out loud than it had been in his head. 

“Don’t thank me, Jack. It’s what buds are for. Hopefully it helped you figure some stuff out.” 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long moment— just sits there awkwardly with his dick out and Randall still beside him. What was all of that? And why does he want  _ more _ ? To touch him, or maybe even kiss him again? He can’t muster the courage to say so. Instead, he turns his attention back to the task he’d been initially focusing on to avoid his complicated feelings around Randall to begin with. 

“Maybe.. Maybe not. Anyway, now that you’ve sucked my soul out of my dick, how do you feel about Algebra?” 

Randall just smiles as Jack pulls his boxers back up and grabs his math notes to re-situate. 

 

* * *

 

“What the hell is even in your bio on that thing?” Lilith demands, reaching over the back of Jack’s lawn chair to snatch his cellphone from his hands. 

“Hey!” he protests, his shades nearly falling off the top of his head as he lunges for it back. 

Randall had lent him his extra pair of ridiculous sunglasses so Jack could join he and Hamish out on the front porch. Their latest activity for the last hour had been Hamish and Randall coaching (or attempting to coach) Jack through a few DMs on Tinder. The newest side project for the pack was to try and find him a rebound to potentially explore what other soulmate options he might have on the table besides Alyssa. So far, they hadn’t been successful. 

“What should my bio be, if you’re such an expert?” Jack asks a little too scathingly. “ _ Freshman occultist _ ,” he mocks. “Current occupation:  _ werewolf superhero _ ?”

Lilith glares daggers. Or maybe not? Jack is never completely sure— it seems like her permanent expression is flared nostrils and narrowed eyes. 

“I dunno, maybe something about your hobbies? Age? Maybe— wait— is this a fucking Teddy Roosevelt quote?”

“W-what?” Randall laughs, almost choking on his drink. “Man, are you serious?”

Jack lunges for the phone again, but Lilith holds it high above her head. 

“‘ _ Believe you can and you’re halfway there _ ,’” she reads, squinting at the screen. “Why the fresh hell is this on your Tinder profile? You about to ‘believe’ your way into someone’s pants? ‘Cuz that’s  _ not _ how that works, Rebound Boy.” 

“It’s a  _ quote,” _ Jack snaps, losing more and more patience by the second. “People put those on their profiles all the time. It’s not my fault you’ve literally never left Werewolf Mansion over here or interacted with another human being.” 

Lilith snorts, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Oh,  _ I’m  _ the weird one? Alright, Teddy R. Good luck trying to pick girls up with your corny ass profile. With taste like that, you’d probably have better luck hitting up some seventy-year-old elementary school teacher with those corny quote posters on her wall.” 

“Damn it, Killith--”

“Stop it,” Hamish interrupts, using his ‘I’ve had enough’ Dad voice. “Both of you. The stress of hearing you both bicker like idiots is going to ruin the taste of my mimosa.” 

“Heard that,” Randall agrees, taking an over-dramatic sip out of his bendy straw. 

Lilith is scrolling through Jack’s phone now, brows furrowing. “ _ Why _ did you ask this woman if she likes dogs?” 

“Randall told me to do it,” Jack says immediately, throwing the other werewolf under the bus. 

“Hey, people  _ like _ dogs,” Randall protests, lowering his glass. “It’s a universal conversation starter. If you talk to girls or guys about dogs, they automatically trust you more.” 

Lilith looks at him like he’s lost his last marble. “You are so damn weird.” 

“Thanks, guys,” Jack says in defeat, laying on the sarcasm. “Really a giant help you’ve been.” He takes his shades off and leaves them folded in the chair as he stands, going to snatch his phone from Lil before heading back inside.

“Was it something I said?” Randall asks.

Hamish just shakes his head in exasperation.  
  


 

* * *

 

“You shouldn’t worry so much about whatever Alyssa’s doing,” Hamish tells him almost half a week later, handing over a cocktail for him to take. “She’s either your soulmate or she’s not— and if she’s  _ not,  _ you’ll at least know who is. Trust me, knowing is half the battle.”

“See, everyone keeps saying that. What if I don’t  _ wanna  _ know? What if I don’t want some stupid tattoo I can’t control telling me what to do with my life or who I’m with?” 

Hamish shrugs, but his expression isn’t unsympathetic. “You can’t really control what Alyssa does, either. If she wants to stay angry with you, that’s her prerogative. You need to find a way to cope that isn’t chasing her across campus or blowing up her messages when you’re shitfaced.” 

Randall snorts at this from the other side of the bar. “Yeah, by the way, didn’t you send her a  _ ghost _ emoji and then a pizza emoji? Is that some kind of euphemism? Somehow, I don’t think asking Alyssa to choke on your meatballs is really gonna work out for you.” 

Jack flips him the bird. “I was  _ drunk _ because you two indulged me. So whose fault is it really?”

“Yours,” Hamish fires back incredulously at almost the exact same time as Randall says, “Uh, yours?” 

“Anyways,” Jack continues loudly, ignoring them both. “Tonight’s the night. At 12 AM, I turn nineteen, so… anyone want to tattoo watch with me?” 

Hamish is already starting to leave the room. “I’m out. You kids have fun-- I have papers to grade.”

Randall, though, is practically beaming. “Is this like a slumber party situation? ‘Cuz we can totally set up a pillow fort in my room and steal one of Lilith’s Blu-rays. Also, I think Hamish has this leftover Chex Mix--”

“Don’t even think about it,” the older wolf calls from up the stairs.

Randall sighs, shaking his head. “Werewolves,” he muses. “Never talk about stealing their Chex Mix the night after a big transformation.”

Jack smiles. If he has to count down the seconds to his inevitable doom, Randall is definitely the person he wants to be doing that with. “I mean.. Yeah, I’m down.”

“Say no more,” his best friend flourishes, walking backwards. “Also, meet me upstairs in five.”

 

* * *

 

Jack’s only really been in Randall’s room one other time and it’s exactly as he remembers it. Neat, clean-looking bookshelves that he’s sure are sorted alphabetically. Antique, rich floorboards that the sun rays bounce off of to create an almost golden glow. All of his dirty clothes are even neatly confined to a hamper in the corner of the room. Jack has a pang of guilt recalling how he’d left his own floor back on campus.

Randall is in the center of the bed, laying on his stomach with the remote and a bowl of popcorn on either side. Around him are heaping stacks of pillows collected from across the house and arranged into two rows. A blanket drapes over them, forming a small pillow fort exactly as promised. 

“No way. All of this?” 

Randall scoots a little to the left and pats the spot on the bed next to him. “I mean, you’re the birthday boy and all, right?”

“Fine. What are we watching?” Jack asks, hoisting himself up on the bed to sit cross-legged next to his best friend. 

“Well, I hope you don’t like dogs as much as I do, ‘cuz.. Lil has a ton of action movies, and she practically forced me to take  _ John Wicke  _ out of the bunch.” Randall hits play on the remote and promptly takes a fistful of popcorn to shove into his mouth. 

“Isn’t that the one where they beat the shit out of the dog and Keanu Reeves goes on a murder spree afterwards?” Jack asks, squinting.

“Amen. I can’t even think of a more reasonable reaction,” Randall says, passing Jack the bowl of popcorn. 

He digs in, stuffing a handful into his mouth. “D’you think this is Lilith’s favorite movie because she’s secretly a giant masochist? Actually, wait no-- scratch the ‘secretly’ part.”

“I think it’s Lilith’s favorite movie because she gets to watch Sir-Dilfs-A-Lot here murder and or heavily maim hundreds of dudes.” 

“Didn’t know Keanu Reeves was your type,” Jack teases, placing the bowl back between them so Randall can also reach. 

He fixes judgy, dark eyes on Jack. “Is Keanu Reeves ever  _ not _ somebody’s type?” 

Jack just shrugs in response. He has the sudden, unshakeable feeling that he’s just made an ass of himself. Or at the very least put a moderately sized foot in his mouth.

Even after the two fall quiet, he misses a scene from the intro of the movie because he’s suddenly and inexplicably hyper-aware of the warmth of Randall’s body pressing against his side.

He really shouldn’t be surprised when Randall tears up at the dog’s death scene. “God, every damn time,” he mutters, wiping his shining eyes with the back of his sweater sleeve. 

Jack bites back a smile. 

 

* * *

 

It’s not lost on Jack that some trademark qualities of wolves (or even dogs, really) had rubbed off on him since his transformation into a werewolf.

So he’s not particularly surprised when he wakes up in essentially a puppy pile with Randall. 

The taller male is laying on his stomach beneath him with one cheek smooshed against the bed. A little bit of drool is escaping the side of his mouth. 

Jack is on top of him like he’d been sleeping there for god knows how long. He’d woken up using Randall’s shoulder blade as a pillow. 

The sky is dark outside and Blu-ray is on the main menu screen.  _ Had they really just passed out?  _

Jack fumbles for his phone from his pocket to check the time, intentionally not looking at his left wrist.  _ 12:28 AM _ .

He takes a deep, shaky breath.  _ You’ve got this. Just one look. _

He turns his left wrist over. 

Sliding off of Randall, he shakes his head in disbelief. He has no words. He doesn’t even know if he can  _ find _ any. It’s like someone’s kicked him in the stomach and he can’t breathe.

There, in the same neat print and black ink that everyone else’s tattoo appears in, is the name  _ Randall Carpio.  _

He’s completely numb.

Moving quietly so as not to disturb his sleeping friend, Jack slides off the bed and starts to cross the room. He almost trips on the empty popcorn bowl that had somehow landed on the carpet, but catches himself at the last moment. 

“Jack?” Randall mutters sleepily, starting to stir. He rubs both of his eyes with the backs of his fists. “Wait, shit, your tattoo. Man, I totally didn’t mean to just pass out--” He freezes. His gaze is suddenly locked on his wrist, right at the spot his skin had been blank just a few hours ago. 

Jack already knows it’s his own name, but seeing Randall’s eyes widen brings a new kind of realness to it. 

“No way,” he breathes, his big, dark eyes moving from his wrist to Jack. “All this time? You mean it’s not Alyssa?”

Jack is shaking his head, a lump forming in his throat. He still wants to flee. He starts moving like he’s going to, and—

“Wait,” Randall exclaims, a wild look in his eyes. “Jack, we need to.. I dunno, maybe talk about this? At least.”

Jack stops in his tracks just before reaching the door and gives an aggravated sigh. He turns slowly to face the distressed wolf. “Talk about what? The fact we’re apparently bonded for life now? The fact  _ you  _ were apparently my ‘soulmate’ all along and I was too dumb to see it? The fact I’m apparently queer when I didn’t even  _ know _ I was anything but straight? Which topic do we tackle first, Randall?”

The taller male pushes himself up off the bed, walking to stand directly in front of Jack. “Jack,” he says, putting both hands on his best friend’s shoulders. “Take a breath. I get that it’s a lot to have all of this thrown on you, but it’s gonna be  _ okay. _ ”

Jack’s just shaking his head. “It’s not. It’s not okay. Before I could even process whatever it is I’m feeling for you, I get  _ this _ just telling me? Forcing me?” 

Randall squeezes his shoulders. “No one is ‘ _ forcing’  _ anything. Do you think I’m any less surprised by this? That I didn’t have expectations or plans before finding out you’re my soulmate? No. We  _ all  _ do. And if you need space, just take it. But I’m not forcing you to do or  _ be _ anything. Nothing has changed here.” 

Jack knocks Randall’s arms away and runs his fingers through his own hair. “God, this is just… so much. You’re my closest friend here. I think you’re my closest friend maybe  _ ever _ .” 

“And maybe that’s why,” Randall says, almost softly. “We’re best friends. We’re a pair.”

He’s right and Jack knows he is. He sighs in frustration, maybe for the hundredth time. “Yeah… I know. I’m sorry. It’s just— a surprise… I dunno.” He turns away from the other wolf, massaging his temples and just pacing. “Do you— I mean,  _ did _ you— like me like me?” He doesn’t know why he asks it. All he knows is that his body is still singing with adrenaline and he needs to know.

Randall cracks a small, amused smile. “Jack, Greybeard would die for you and I’m pretty sure I would too. But if you’re asking if I would  _ date  _ you… dude, I think ‘soulmates’ is pretty gay.” 

Jack shrugs. “I mean,  _ yeah _ , but…”

Randall is still grinning. “Sorry, did you want me to regale you with my long-winded tale about pining away for you? I literally put your dick in my mouth like a week ago.” 

“That’s not the same as you being my literal soulmate and you know it,” Jack says, sighing. “Look, this is just.. a lot. I need a minute. Or, like, several. I’m heading back to the dorm, but I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?” 

“Yeah, that, uh.. Seems like a good call,” Randall says, but he seems only a little dejected. 

“I will text-- I swear.” 

It’s the last thing he says before leaving Randall’s bedroom and shutting the door behind him. 

 

* * *

 

Tomorrow comes too soon. 

The night before is almost a blur, and Jack is sure he’d imagined it up until he sees Randall’s name printed on his wrist in that blank ink. 

He’s nearly late getting out of bed to make it to first period. There are an endless amount of thoughts swirling in his head, and he’s still not even entirely sure which emotion in specific he’s feeling. Happiness? Relief? Heartbreak? Longing? Probably the biggest one is just confusion.

And seeing  _ her _ on the steps of the main campus building does nothing to ease that. 

Jack feels the familiar stomach flop he gets around Alyssa and it only doubles in magnitude when he sees her open, desperate expression. 

“Jack,” she starts, coming down the steps. “I, uh… We need to talk. Something happened.”

“What? What are you talking about?” It doesn’t dawn on him why she could look this serious. 

“I didn’t mean to snap like I did. It’s just.. You and I are on different sides of a fight only one of us wins. What was I  _ supposed  _ to say? It’s not that I don’t like you— I actually, uh… Fuck, it’s better if I just show you.” 

It’s then that she holds her hand out. He doesn’t realize what the hell she’s doing at first, and then she nods to her wrist and pushes her sleeve up further. 

There, in the same black ink, is his own name.  _ Jack Morton.  _

“Alyssa, I don’t even know what to say.” 

And it’s true. He doesn’t. Especially with thoughts of Randall— and his own tattoo— fresh in his mind. 

“You don’t have to,” she says, and he should’ve been able to tell what she was about to do on her tone alone. 

He should’ve stopped her.

But he doesn’t realize until it’s too late that she’s leaning in to kiss him. Her lips touch his, and for one long moment he isn’t sure what to do or how to react. Alyssa is what he’s been wanting for so long, and he’d been sure they  _ were  _ soulmates. But now he has Randall, and he isn’t sure he wants to—

His stream of thoughts end abruptly when he sees him. Randall is just a few paces behind Alyssa, holding books in one arm that he nearly drops. His expression caves, going from happy to confused to hurt to just cold. 

“No, no, no,” Jack mutters, stepping around Alyssa. “Randall, wait—“

Randall spins on his heel to face him for a moment. “Don’t bother, Jack. You’ve made your choice.”

Only a few words and they somehow cut him deeper than anything Alyssa’s said to him in the past few weeks. 

Jack stands between a retreating Randall and a baffled Alyssa, feeling like his heart is splitting in two. 


End file.
